


To Hurt Something Awful

by MSpataro210



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Crowley is a jealous ex, Cuddling, Dean Has Issues, Dreams, M/M, Swordplay, hexes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSpataro210/pseuds/MSpataro210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spinning off from the end of "The Executioner's Song," Crowley is none to happy that Castiel is now in possession of the First Blade, and it's always a mother's duty to make her son feel better.  So they plan to strike at Dean from where it hurts.  Meanwhile Dean is still haunted from his bout from Cain, and tries to do good but can't seem to even sit still without something happening to the people he cares about.  Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hurt Something Awful

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything, and I hope you enjoy! This took around a week to do and half of that I was under the weather.

To Hurt Something Awful

_‘And next you’d kill the angel Castiel… Now that one… that I suspect to hurt something awful…’_

_He’s back at the barn, Cain standing tall over him.  Cain’s eyes burn bright in the darkness with ferocity unmatched by any flame.  It’s a burning he’s felt before, and soon enough he can feel the pain shooting through his arm. The grip on the First Blade tightens, the entire arm shaking with abandon._

_“Feel that power Dean?” Cain asks, pressing his face closer to his own, blue eyes of a madman staring into the abyss Dean’s have become. The pearly whites brighten Cain’s face into a horrific glee, befitting a mad man.  His face must be the polar opposite of his former friend, pulled back into fright._

_“All that strength?  Coursing like a river through your veins, Dean, I know you can feel it,” Cain powers through, “Free yourself from your misguided restraints and just let go!  This what you were always meant to become: a monster!”_

_In his head he screams with the force of a hurricane ‘No!’  Yet the only sound that seems to escape at the moment is a lowly whimper._

_The pain in his arm is too much; he can feel the disease spreading through his body, losing control of every inch of his own skin.  He doesn’t even remember finding the strength to stand._

_“Dean,” Cain has his hand on him, and he doesn’t shake the offending appendage from where it lies.  His mind is trying but his body is unwilling to listen.  “Dean,” Cain continues, “do not fight it.  It’s inevitable.  The river runs back to its source, and at your core you know this darkness is you. It’s time you show the world how **ruthless** you are.”_

_Cain starts to get farther and farther away, his legs having suddenly grown a mind of their own.  He’s trying to force his consciousness to the front, to regain control, but every time he’s pushed back by the suffocating, all-consuming darkness that has leeched in through the Mark.  And he can only sit back in horror as his body becomes what he feared it would: a puppet, a slave, to the Mark._

_“Dean? Is it over already-“_

_He knows that Sam can sense something is wrong.  In the way his face shifts from hope to a despair he’s not even sure he’s ever seen on him: not when he told him that Dad wouldn’t be home for Christmas, again, and even worse than when Metatron stabbed him._

_“I knew this bloody idea was doomed from the start!”_

_This time it was Crowley, who was already starting to move away from the group, getting as far away from Dean as he possibly could._

_Dean doesn’t even know what he must look like right now, but from the looks he can see it cannot be anything good.  Crowley, Sam and Cas each have their own looks of horror, despair, and sorrow scratched onto their skin.  As Dean keeps his gait, the others stay as still as stone._

_It’s Cas who reacts firsts._

_He pushes Sam back towards Crowley, the taller man falling into the outstretched arms of the King of Hell._

_“Get him out of here!” he yells, sliding his angel blade out from his sleeve and holding it out towards him._

_It looks like Sam tries to put up a fight, but Crowley knows when the battle is lost and it was over the moment Dean laid a finger on the Blade. They’re gone in the blink of an eye, and Dean can feel his neck crane back to face Castiel._

_“Dean,” Castiel says, the resolve slipping now that it’s just the two of them, “Dean, please remember who you are.  Please don’t make me have to… to-“_

_“To what?” he replies, voice like poison dripping through his lips, “Finish me off? Kill me?  Am I asking too much of the angel?”_

_“No Dean, it’s-“_

_“It’s what?” Dean can hear himself reply, “It’s something you don’t have the **guts** to do?”_

_Castiel’s blue eyes are pooling with unshed tears, the grip on his blade starting to shake.  “It’s not the guts I lack, Dean, it’s the heart.  I don’t want to kill you.”_

_“Poor, poor Castiel,” he chuckles, “the thing is: you were dead the minute I walked in.”_

_With speed even Dean didn’t know he possessed, he was in the very personal space of Castiel.  The angel tried to react, to block whatever was coming, but the quick swipe of Dean’s hand had left its intended result._

_In the middle of Castiel’s chest, right where his heart is, the First Blade drains the life from the angel’s body.  Castiel’s blood leaks from the wound, gushing on the two of them. His head is frozen, staring into Dean’s soulless green eyes._

_Inside, Dean shakes at the prison his mind has become: being forced to watch as he destroys one of the closest relationships he’s ever built._

_Castiel tries to make a sound, unintelligible words gurgling through the blood, until Dean takes the hand not gripped on the Blade like a madman, and puts the finger to Castiel’s ruby stained lips._

_“Shhh,” he cooes mockingly, “I’m doing you a favor.  You were going to die anyway, I’m just making it as **painful** as possible.”  He twists the blade in the wound and his body relishes in the cracks in Castiel’s._

_Castiel uses the last of his energy to lift his hand onto Dean’s, holding the hand that is killing him and-_

“Dean!”

            He’s up with a start, sweating and shaking like a recovering drug addict.  His breath comes in shallow, uneven, and he can even feel the tear tracks that stain his cheeks.  There’s a hand at his back, rubbing soothing circles into the skin as he chokes back the sobs that are threatening to surface.  He turns his head to see who is there beside him.

            Castiel stares back at him with concern in his eyes, gazing right through him with the eyes he’s known for longer than he should.  But all he can see right now are the eyes he killed, the ones that trusted him and put him at the end of his Blade.

            Dean acts on an impulse and falls into the open arms of Castiel, catching him off guard.

            Castiel is surprised at first, but he doesn’t turn away from the contact.  Instead, he welcomes it, hugging Dean closer as the hunter rests his head on the shoulder of the angel.  No words are spoken, because the silence is the comfort Dean needs right now.

            When Dean feels more in control of himself, then does he lift his head from the safety of Castiel’s shoulder.

            “Thanks Cas,” he whispers, “I needed to know you were still… here.”

            “Does it have to do with what you were… dreaming about?” Castiel inquires.  Seeing the state Dean was in shook Castiel up, he will admit, but the contents of his dream were his and his alone to share.

            “Yeah,” Dean swallows, scratching his head and looking anywhere but at Castiel.  The silence that follows clues Castiel in that he might need to be more… open about his curiosity.

            “Would you like to… tell me, about what you were dreaming about?” Castiel asks again, in a softer voice. In his time among the humans, he learned that when breaching a very serious subject, it’s best to do it in a way that makes the listener, in this case himself, seem very accepting and open.

            Conflict is clear to see on Dean’s face, but Dean decides he doesn’t need anymore eating away at him then there already is.  Any more, and he’ll be gone faster than a buffet in Atlantic City.

            “I-I was dreaming. About the barn. I had the Blade… and Cain was standing over me.  And then he wasn’t. I…I lost control. In a moment I went from fighting Cain to fighting…” he stops, and looks into Castiel’s eyes, “you.”

            That was why he wanted the hug, Castiel reasoned.  “And…?” Castiel trails off, hoping for Dean to continue.

            “And? You got Sam and Crowley to safety while… while…” he gets more hysterical, “while you did your best to stop me and I did my best to turn you into a shish kebab.  I killed you Cas!  I killed…” Dean trails off, and once again falls back into Castiel’s embrace.

            Castiel rubs a pattern into Dean’s side as he lays them back against the bed.  He’s surprised at the extent Dean is sharing with him: he knows how hard it is for the hunter to not only admit to his fears but to openly cry in front of others.  Either Dean has been learning it’s okay to show vulnerability to those who care about him, or he’s really tired from the day’s events.  Either way he’s happy to have gotten past the barricade that is Dean Winchester.

            It takes a little longer for Dean to calm down this time.  Just saying that Dean killed Cas makes the dream seem much worse. It puts a sense of inevitability in the air that just clings to Dean’s skin.  It makes the words Cain said in the barn play on repeat in his mind: he knew that killing Castiel would bring a great deal of pain, but even the thought has sent him spiraling into a break down.  It would especially be bad if he had killed Sammy-

            “Wait?” Dean is struggling to get up, the warmth too inviting  to let go, “Where’s Sammy?”

            Castiel smiles down at the tired man.  Even in the throes of a depression the elder Winchester still worries for the younger. “He’s out.  I sent him to grab some food, promising to watch over you until he got back.  I was actually on my way to check up on you when… you know.”

            Satisfied with this answer, Dean burrows back into Castiel.  His arms are around his waist, covered by the trench coat.  He can already start to feel the waves of sleep starting to wash over him once again.

            “Cas?” he mumbles against the button-down shirt.

            “Yes Dean?” the angel answers back into the sandy blonde hair.

            “Can you stay?” he asks in a small voice, “Please?”

            Castiel smiles, “Of course.”

            He kicks off his shoes before pulling the covers up over the both of them.  Dean drifts back into a dreamless sleep, and even though Castiel doesn’t need sleep again, he gets close to it on Dean’s bed.

* * *

 

            From the darkness of Hell, Rowena finally stirs from the trance she was in.  Her head reels from the journey she was in, never used to being in that state for a long time, but she soon regains her footing.

            Crowley waits, perched on his throne, as his mother returned to the land of the waking. “So,” he starts, “what are our Winchester boys and their _angel_ doing now?”

            Rowena takes her seat by her son before beginning her tale.

            “Well, Fergus,” she begins, “the taller one was out and about doing nothing: worrying for his brother and all that nonsense.  It’s what the elder one was doing.  Apparently he was having a sort of a breakdown.”

            Just hearing Dean being in trouble sends a discomfort through Crowley, but he knows it’s more reactionary than meaningful.  If Dean can’t trust him with the First Blade, with his friendship, what does he owe that freckled mess.

            “And?” he asks, hiding his curiosity with an air of disinterest.  If only his mother hadn’t mastered the art of perception as well as other dark arts.

            “And he found comfort in the strong arms of that angel he’s so fond of.  You know the one: that angel he gave the First Blade to-“

            Sound of glass crushing in his hands shatters the story and leaves whiskey dripping from his hands, mixed with the blood.

            “Oh there, there, son,” Rowena tries to sooth, using a handkerchief to wipe away the mess, “they are beneath you.”

            “I want them destroyed,” Crowley grits through his teeth, “I want the First Blade back in my possession, and I want them all killed.  Moose. Squirrel.  The angel.  _Slowly._ ”

            “And we will dearie, we will,” Rowena appeases, “because that little dip into the ether has given us a _great_ deal of information.”

            Crowley finally fans away the fog of anger and is left with confusion.  “What do you mean?”

            “Well… the first thing to destroying your enemies is to discover their weakness,” Rowena stands, moving about the room, “and what, from my little story, can you glean as a weakness?”

            Crowley thinks for a minute.

            “Sam worrying for Dean?” he guesses, “Really, that’s old information, mother.  If their relationship was anymore co-dependent they’d be conjoined twins!”

            “No, no,” she replies, turning towards her bag of spells and artifacts, “getting to the tall one would be like Jack going up against the Giant without an axe. I’m talking about that Dean boy’s _other_ weakness!”

            “Pie?”

            “The angel!” Rowena yells, gripping the table in front of her, “Do I have to do all the thinking? Have you wasted away all your brainpower on this scum that the minute you’re told to think about him instead of for him you have nothing left to give!”

            Crowley bristles at that. “I would have gotten it,” he sulks, “Anyway how are we going to get to him?  It’s not like he’d be willing to talk to me of all people.”

            “You leave all that to your mother, dearie,” Rowena coos, “Mommy knows best after all.” Her smile is down right nefarious as she starts to sort and mix ingredients in the dim light. 

* * *

 

            “Cas, how’s Dean doing?” Sam yelled, but tapers off seeing as how the angel in question is nowhere to be seen. The taller Winchester casts a quick glance around the room from the entryway, bags from the closest diner hanging from his hands.  He steps down the staircase that echo in the quiet emptiness until he’s finally at the bottom.

            “Cas…?” He places the bags down on the closest sustainable surface, maintaining a slow gait as he walks throughout the Bunker.

            He’s keeping quiet, for the sake of Dean but also because of what could be in the Bunker right now. He knows it’s one of the most, if not the only, safe haven from the supernatural in the world, but anything can happen to them, really.

            Sam has his hand hovering on the firearm tucked between the waistband of his pants, as he stealthily makes his way down the corridor.

            His first instinct is to head towards Dean’s room, palm pushing the door just enough he can stick his head in, but that small action is enough to calm the storm of worry that started to brew.

            On the bed, Dean rests his head on Castiel’s chest, his body still but arms tight around the angel. Castiel on the other hand has his eyes closed, but the metronomic rhythm of his hand moving across the tufts of hair tickling his nose.

            Sam tries to move away, but the unfortunate creak of the door alerts the guardian angel to his presence. Blue eyes meet hazel, and Sam can only wave sheepishly and apologetically for disturbing the two. He’s lucky Dean didn’t wake up: otherwise it would have lead to Dean taking at least 10 steps backwards. Castiel takes a quick look down at the sleeping hunter, and quietly tries to dislodge himself from the iron grip: almost an exercise in futility.  He uses a small amount of grace to keep Dean in the land of sleep, but only manages to make a small opening for his body to slip through.  Castiel pads across the floor to the door as quickly as possible and joins Sam outside the door.

            “I see you kept a close eye on Dean,” Sam smiles at him.  Castiel rolls his eyes at the light-hearted jab.

            “Did you get the food?” Castiel asks instead, moving towards the main hall of the Bunker. He sees the bags on the table and starts to rifle through them until he finds the burger he asked for and takes it out… only for Sam to push it back down.  Castiel looks up to find Sam’s inquisitive stare stopping him.

            “Was there… any reason for you to be in Dean’s room?”

            Castiel sighs, knowing he has to address the elephant in the room.  If there’s one thing the Winchesters are it’s stubborn, and like Dean Sam won’t give up just because he gets a no.  Well… in the pursuit of knowledge that is.

            “While you were away, Dean was having trouble sleeping,” Castiel begins, “I was walking by and noticed his distress and woke him from his nightmare.  Shaken from the ordeal, he wanted me to stay until he fell back asleep but… well, you saw the situation.”

            Sam is about to ask what the nature of the dream was, but before he can Castiel holds a hand up to stop him. “I will not divulge what Dean’s dream was, as that is his to share with you if he likes.”

            “Pfft, like that’s gonna happen,” Sam dismisses.

            “I wouldn’t think that,” Castiel advises, but from Sam’s look elaborates, “I think Dean’s become more… open.  I’m sure that, if you ask, he would be willing to share about whatever he feels comfortable addressing with you.”

            Sam would have continued with another joke, ‘like his relationship with you?’ but in the instant a shrill ring broke through, interrupting their discussion. Castiel looks down at his pocket, and gives an apologetic shrug to Sam as he answers it.

            “Hello-“

            “Castiel, we need you here!”

            He’s taken aback by the urgency in the tone of the angel on the other side of the line.

            “Sariel? What is the matter?”

            “It’s the demons, Castiel! They found Heaven! We’re- we’re fighting them as much as we can but they have magic support.  We need you back here!  We need-AAH!”

            The line goes dead in his hands, and he can only stare at the device as one thought runs through his head: he needs to leave.

            “Cas!” Sam shakes him out of his stupor, “Who was on the other line?  What’s going on?”

            “Heaven’s being attacked,” Castiel mutters, “by demons.”  He starts to walk away from Sam then, “I have to go.”

            “Woah, what? Wait,” Sam splutters, but gets a hold on Castiel’s arm.

            “I cannot wait Sam,” Castiel’s pulls away from him, “I need to get to them.  Apparently Crowley must be angry about my possession of the First Blade and decided to attack me somewhere personal.  I need to get to them.  Please- tell Dean I’ll try and make it back as soon as I can.”

            He leaves before Sam can convince him to wait for either brother and heads towards where he parked his car.

            Sam can only stand there, letting the food get cold, as he can only imagine what Castiel might be walking into.

* * *

            On the other end of the phone, a smirking Rowena holds the device between her delicate fingers as the other hand grips a stone.  Beneath her feet are the bodies of the two angels set to guard the gate to Heaven, eyes unblinking towards the sky.  Crowley sits on the bench closest to his mother as she walks over to join him.

            “He get the message?” he asks, swirling another glass of expensive liquor around in his new glass.

            “Oh he most certainly did, my dearie,” Rowena says, “he’ll be with us soon enough.”

            “And you’re sure you’re little trinket can work?” he asks, skepticism laced on his tongue.

            She pats his cheek condescendingly.  “Believe me boy, my charm will work its _magic._ ”

 

            In the quiet of the night, Dean again awakens from his sleep, but is disturbed by the cold he feels. The warmth he sunk into is no longer there, and he is left alone in his room.  He rubs his eyes and tries to see through the darkness, but no shapes other than those of his possessions are discernable.  He swings his body over his bed and pushes up and out of the room. The cold permeates his entire being, beginning in his room and even now as he pads his bare feet across the floor of the Bunker.  He heads in the direction of the study, sure he’ll find at least one of the two people there. He’s right: Sam sits at a table, salad container empty and pushed to the side while he clacks away at his computer.  He clears his throat, and Sam looks up with a surprised face that swiftly settles into a smile.

            “Dean?” he asks, “Has it been four days already?”

            “Yuk yuk yuk,” he grumbles, pushing out a chair and joining his brother.  He takes a small glance around the room to see if anyone else was there, but they are alone.  “So…” he starts, “you’re here, was it Cas’s turn to get the food?”

            Sam’s smile slowly drops from his face, and already bad feeling forms in Dean’s gut.

            “He had to leave,” Sam starts, but notices the dark look on Dean’s face, quickly subverts the worry, “he said he’d be back though.  Apparently Crowley was none too happy to have lost the Blade, and found Heaven.”

            “So let’s go after him!” Dean gets up, but Sam intercepts his movements, getting up first and making long strides to push his brother back into the chair.

            “He made it pretty clear that he could handle this,” Sam chides, “ _and_ that you should rest.  You know he’s worried about you, and the less stress he can put on you the better he’ll feel.”

            Dean lets the weight of Sam’s hands guide him back to his seat, as his body rests on the wood.

            “I got some pie,” Sam continues, “let me get you a slice.”  Sam’s heavy footsteps echo towards the kitchen until Dean can’t hear his boots any longer.

            In his mind he knows Sam is right, that after that bout with Cain he is definitely not up to picking up a gun, a blade, even a damned butter knife, without having his hand shake. But his heart can’t help but hold itself in a vice as Castiel puts himself in danger.  He thinks of how much Castiel has done for him, how much he is willing to do for him, and how that might end up killing him one day. It doesn’t matter if it’s Dean himself holding the weapon or somebody else, but the minute Castiel breathes his last breath, it’s going to be because of Dean.  And Dean doesn’t know if he can live with himself if one more person dies because of his mistakes.

            The clattering of a plate and a fork in front of him snaps him out of the dark spiral his thoughts were turning into.  He looks up to see Sam hovering over him, mouth set in a twitchy smile.

            “It’s apple.”

            Dean looks back at the warm piece of pie, smothered in a healthy amount of whipped cream. Dean tries to mimic Sam’s expression, but he can’t help it if it looks more like a grimace.

            “Thanks Sammy.”

 

            Castiel parks haphazardly near the park and doesn’t even take the keys out of the ignition. He’s out of the car, angel blade in his hand as he steps his way towards the portal.  He can make out two bodies at the front of the Gate, and can’t help as his blood runs cold as two of his finest soldiers lie slumped over each other, the blood drying on their bodies and the ground.

            “I will make sure you are avenged, sisters…” he whispers, blade loosely held in his grip.

            “I’m not so sure you have the ability to do that, feathers.”

            The blade is quick, being held right against his neck.  Crowley pulls Castiel up from his crouched position, the jarring motion launching the angel blade in Castiel’s hand towards the ground.  Castiel is pulled by his neck and trench coat until he comes face to face with a redheaded woman.

            “What’s going on Crowley?” Castiel demands, “Where are the demons?”

            “Oh,” Crowley mocks, “that was just a simple ruse.  Good thing you’re “simple” enough to fall for those.”

            “Now son,” Rowena chimes in, “manners.  Aren’t you going to introduce me to this,” her hand pats Castiel’s cheek, “handsome man.”

            “Whoever you are, I don’t want anything to do with you,” he bites out.  This only causes the woman to laugh as she holds a stone in her hand.

            “Oh sweetie,” she coos, “in a matter of seconds you’ll be singing a different tune.”

            Castiel doesn’t even have the time to question what she meant before she thrusts the stone towards his forehead.

            Everything goes black.

* * *

 

            Dean drums his fingers on the table, his plate of pie finished and pushed to the side and the book he chose to “read” long forgotten.  Every couple of minutes he just flips a page, not even glancing to see the words written by some random person.  He didn’t even look at the title: for all he knows he’s reading about the mating habits of the North Western Wendigo.  His mind is only focused on one thing: Castiel.

            He really hoped the angel wouldn’t have been gone the next time Dean opened his eyes. He wanted to thank Castiel for what he did for him, and not just that moment.

            “God if you’re going to just sulk the entire time go call him.”

            Dean looks up to see Sam giving him a withering stare from behind his laptop.

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean lies.

            Sam’s face only gets bitchier. “I swear,” he starts, “if you don’t call him in the next minute I’m tossing the rest of the pie.”

            Dean stands ram rod straight at that, hand fumbling in the pocket of his pants.  “I’ll, uhh,” he stumbles, “I’ll be right back.”

            Sam’s little victory smirk is still noticeable to Dean, and he will definitely pay his brother back later… but first.

            The number has already been dialed and he hits call, holding the phone up to his ear. And after the first ring, he gets anxious. Usually Castiel would pick up before the ring even finishes, sometimes even before it starts: like he knows who’s calling him.  By the time it gets to the fourth ring Dean’s fingernails are getting dangerously close to his mouth. But thankfully the shrill ringing stops, and the telltale sign of the answer takes some of the pressure off of Dean’s lungs.

            “Cas,” he breaths, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.  Just wondering how it went.  Did Crowley rough you up some?”

            “I did actually, and then some.”

            The weight that was once gone swings back at double the force, and Dean cannot breathe.

            “Crowley,” he wheezes out, a little too loud to go unnoticed by Sam’s hearing.  Soon enough both brothers are standing with Dean’s phone between them.

            “Oh you still remember my name?” Crowley bites back with enough sarcasm to fill a sinking ship, “I thought you would have dropped that too when you threw everything else out the window!”

            “Crowley, just because I gave Cas the blade doesn’t mean I don’t trust you,” Dean starts, but think it over a bit.  “Well, it kinda meant I don’t trust you a lot, but there’s still a sliver of trust there-“

            “Enough!” Crowley interrupts, “It doesn’t matter now.  All that is important is the First Blade.  I want it.”

            “Well too bad imp, I don’t know where it is!” Dean fires back, nerves frayed with irritation.

            “Hmm yes, I know that,” Crowley tempers out, “you gave it to your little angel boyfriend. Unfortunately he’s not being _forthcoming_ with that piece of information as we hoped.”

            The sound of pained screams rip through the speaker, and Dean can only see red.

            “I swear Crowley if you harm even a single hair on his-“

            “It’s a bit too late for that Dean,” Crowley breezes through, “but I will strike a deal with you-it is my thing as you know: the Blade, for the angel.  We’ll be waiting for you at a warehouse outside of Lebanon. In an hour, or Castiel will suffer.” The phone goes silent.

            Dean holds the phone in his hand, letting the small piece of plastic weigh heavily in his hand, before turning sharply on his heel and heading towards his room.

            “Dean? Dean!” Sam chases after, “You can’t give Crowley the Blade!”

            “You think I don’t know that, Sam?” Dean answers back, “But he has Cas!”  
            “Even so, we don’t know where the First Blade is!”

            Dean stops outside his door, hand on the wood head facing the dark oak, as he addresses Sam from behind.

            “He’s not getting the First Blade,” Dean grumbles, “but I’ll make sure he gets a blade: sticking right out of his chest.”

* * *

 

            Crowley looks down at the phone in his hand, the icon for Dean flashing before finally fading out. He looks behind him towards his mother, a smarmy smile on his face.

            “It’s all going according to plan, Mother,” he says.

            “Of course it is Dearie,” she says, “it is one of mine.  Now, let’s get in our places shall we?  They’ll be here any minute now!”

* * *

 

            The still of the night is thick as Dean and Sam sneak, guns out, towards the warehouse where Castiel is being kept.

            “Are you sure he’s here?” Sam asks.

            Dean gives him a look. “Of course,” he replies, “I traced the phone and it’s right here.”

            “And you don’t think it’s a trap?”

            “Of course it’s a trap! But Cas is in danger, and right now that’s more important than a trap!”

            Before Sam can argue this any further, Dean is already sliding the door to the warehouse open slowly, careful not to make a sound.  He slips in, and Sam follows soon after.  The two scan the room, looking for any sign of demons or Crowley. It seems like the room is barren, except for one lone figure.  Slumped on a steel column, Castiel sits tied with what looks like ordinary rope. Sam can’t help but feel like this is too easy, but Dean’s already across the room, gun in his holster, untying the knots binding Castiel.

            “Hey, hey buddy,” he says, undoing the hold on the angel in record time, “glad to see you’re okay. C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” He has Castiel propped onto his shoulder, the angel dead weight in his grip.  It’s only when the trench coated angel has been situated on Dean’s shoulder do the boys hear it: clapping.

            The three turn around to see Crowley standing at the entrance, next to him their _favorite_ witch: Rowena.

            “Big mistake coming here without backup, buddy,” Dean growls, hand sliding towards the gun at his side.

            “Especially if the only person you could think of to come with you is that witch.  Really, Crowley?” Sam adds on, gun already up.

            “Oh, come off it. Now you of all people should know that you can’t choose your family, but they are the best people to work with,” Crowley yells, “And if you think I didn’t have an ulterior motive… you’re wrong again.”  He puts his hands to his mouth and a sharp whistle breaks through the tension.

            Sam whips around, looking for the demons that _should_ be crawling out of the woodwork, but greets only air with the gun in his hand.

            “Uhh, Sammy?”

            To his surprise Sam turns to see Dean, an arm around his chest squeezing his arms to the side, and a blade held up to his neck so close it’s almost breaking skin. But that’s not what surprises him. It’s who’s _holding_ the blade.

            Castiel.

            “C-Cas?”

            “Surprised Dean?” Castiel chuckles, “Really I thought you’d be used to having a knife in your back. Or in this case: up to your throat.”

            “What did you do to him?” Sam asks, gun pointed straight at Crowley.

            “Uh-uh-uh,” Castiel chides, “I wouldn’t even think it, or ol’ Dean here gets to experience death again: permanently.”

            “I didn’t do anything Samuel,” Crowley mocks, him and Rowena meeting Castiel halfway from where he drags Dean, “I just showed him where his loyalties _should_ lie.  I mean after all,” he pulls the First Blade from seemingly out of thin air, “ _he_ made the right call on who should have this.”

            “Cas,” Dean breathes out, voice low and shallow, “This isn’t you.  I know it isn’t.”

            Castiel gets in close and has his mouth right next to Dean’s ear.  If the situation were anything else, the shiver going up Dean’s spine would be from something other than fear.  “Oh it most certainly is Dean,” he whispers, “For the first time I see you for what you truly are: a pathetic, worthless bug.”

            Sam tries to reason with him: “Castiel, whatever they did to you we can help-“

            “Can you two not hear anything over your whiny attempts at masculine pain?” Castiel interrupts, “I made the call here.  I gave Crowley the First Blade.  I’m the one holding Dean’s life in my hands.  No one gets to tell me what to do anymore!  Not you, and certainly not him!”

            Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing; yet some deep part of him can’t help but feel that every word Castiel is saying has some truth to it.  Why would someone like Cas even consider spending time with him? He’s too good, too bright, too full of life and love to be spending time with the whirlpool of death and despair.

            Sam on the other hand is looking for any signs of a spell.  Their dealing with Rowena as well as Crowley, and no matter what… relation she has to Crowley, she’s a witch first and foremost.  There must have been something she had to have done to… aha!

            He notices the glint of the purple stone nestled between Rowena’s fingers.  She strokes it in a rhythmic pattern, turning it over every once in while.  He’s not certain, but in Sam’s gut he knows that whatever is going on with Castiel it has to do with that rock.  If only he can get a good enough shot…

            “I think we’ve delayed what we came here to do, Castiel, if you will?”

            At first Dean thinks Castiel is going to just do it, use the angel blade he’s handled countless times before to defend Dean and slash it across his throat.  But instead, the arm around his body lifts, and he can move again.

            “I’m gonna enjoy doing this…”

            From the corner of his eye he can see why the angel blade wasn’t the weapon of choice for their plan. In Castiel’s other hand, the First Blade is gripped by his strong fingers.

            “Cas,” he tries one last time, “please…”

            “You told me that if it ever came down to it to ‘take you out’,” Castiel smirks, “I’m just getting a head start.”

            A swing.

            Dean ducks, the blade only missing his head by a couple of inches.  Dean uses his now free hands to twist the angel blade out of Castiel’s other hand, and into his, before tripping Castiel and sending him sprawling onto the floor.  Castiel picks himself back up, however, and continues his onslaught.

            “I’m not gonna lie Dean,” he laughs, striking and blocking in time with Dean, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

            “Oh yeah, why’s that?” Dean snarks back, pulling the mask up to full force.

            The two weapons meet and Dean and Castiel are face-to-face, breaths intermingling in a tenser, deadlier way.

            “I need the exercise.”

            They jump apart, circling each other, waiting for the other to strike first.  On the outside Dean might be calm and collected, ready for battle, but on the inside he is flooded with turmoil.  He can’t help but feel that his dream is coming true, but in a way he never expected.

            ‘ _…to hurt something awful…’_

            The reminder of Cain startles him, sending him for a whirl and allowing Castiel to get a good jab in to his side.  Dean shakes himself of the pain, refocusing his efforts.  He needs to be fully concentrated so he stops Castiel, and doesn’t kill him.

            Sam on the other hand stands on the sidelines, eyes drawn in worry as his two brothers fight each other. He can’t stand what’s happening, so close to the battle from Cain.  That shook Dean up, but he was still able to carry on.  If Dean slips and kills Castiel… he doesn’t know if he can ever walk away from that.

            Crowley on the other hand smiles from ear to ear.  Either way the coin flips he wins.  If Castiel kills Dean, revenge has been served to every offending party here. And if Dean kills Castiel, well, then the knife would still have gone straight through Dean’s heart: like the one that went through his so little ago.

            Dean is starting to get tired, the reserved energy from before failing him.  He trips, and ends up on his rear, blade still firmly held in his hand.  He stares up at Castiel as the First Blade stares back at him, looking him dead in the eye.

            “Looks like our profound bond has come to an end, Dean,” Castiel smiles, “I hope you enjoy perdition.”

            He thrusts his arm back, ready to stick the First Blade straight through Dean’s skull.

            Yet in that instant three things happen.

            First, Dean uses the last of his energy to duck at the last second, grabbing Castiel’s arm and pulling him on the ground as well.

            Secondly, the First Blade jumps from Castiel’s hold as the fall shakes through his body, unfortunately releasing it from the vice grip.

            Finally, when Dean straddles Dean, angel blade in hand, Castiel can’t help but laugh. And not just a chuckle: this laugh is straight from the belly, sending shivers through the brothers in the room.

            “What are you waiting for Dean?” Castiel asks, blue eyes imploring him for an answer, “Kill me! It’s what you do best with everything you love!”

            Just staring into the blue eyes of his best friend and only seeing a cold detachment, is enough to break through the façade he’s put up, and a film of tear pools in Dean’s eyes, threatening to fall.

            “Cas…” Dean says, “I don’t want to do this.  Don’t make me do this.”

            “But I want you to do it Dean!” Castiel roars back, “Shove my weapon through me. Do it!  You want to, I know you do!  Finish me and put each of us out of our miseries!”

            Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing: he’s lost Castiel.  He lost him to Crowley, and he’s not sure he can ever get him back. He looks up at Sam, hoping that there is anything he can do, and all Sam gives him is a tight little shake of his head.

            And he knows what to do.

            Dean raises the blade, positioning it right over Castiel’s chest.  Crowley’s eyes brim with glee while his mother’s is full of a righteousness and pride that’s taken years to develop.  And Castiel… just stares straight through Dean.  Dean keeps the angel blade still for a couple of seconds… before bringing it down and-

            The blade is thrown at the last minute in the direction of Crowley and Rowena, the two flying apart at the last minute to avoid getting stabbed.  While Crowley is able to keep on his feet, Rowena trips over the discarded First Blade positioned so close to her feet.  She falls, and the stone bounces from her fingertips until it rolls over to Sam…

            Where he crushes it under his boot.

            Rowena shouts.

Crowley shouts.

            Castiel, however, falls deathly silent, as a strange dust flies from his eyes, and he blinks back into awareness.  “Dean,” he manages to whisper before passing out for real due to exhaustion.

            Dean lets his body slump as well, letting the relief pour over him in waves that tonight there would be no more blood on his hands.  But then he turns his gaze on Crowley, and he might have to amend that.

            “This isn’t over Dean,” Crowley swears, “I’ll have my revenge.  No one treats the King of Hell like this!  Come, mother!”

            In a poof of smoke the two McLeods are gone, and only the Winchesters and the angel were left in the warehouse.  Sam walks over to the two on the ground and puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looks up at his brother.

            “C’mon,” he whispers, just loud enough to be heard by Dean, “let’s go home.”

* * *

 

            Castiel slumbers back at the Bunker, swaddled in Dean’s bed.  His quiet snores fill the otherwise silent room.  At his side, Dean sits: waiting for him to wake.  With no book, no music, Dean just preoccupies his time with staring at Castiel and letting his mind wander.

            He thinks back upon the words that Castiel was spewing only a short while ago.  Dean knows that he was under some sort of enchantment, but those things must have some truth in them.  Anyone who sides with the Winchesters almost always gets the short end of the stick: it’s only a matter of time.  Some of them don’t deserve it, and then there are others who shouldn’t have even been involved in the first place.  And Castiel… Dean doesn’t want to see him in any sort of pain if he can help it.  It would be better if Castiel just dropped contact with them after this anyway.

            Dean gets up, slowly starting to walk away, when there’s a rustling from under the covers.

            “Dean…?”

            Dean doesn’t turn around, but from the burning sensation on the back of his head, he knows that Castiel is fixing him with one of his famous questioning stares.

            He swallows: “Hey Cas,”

            “What… happened?” Cas broaches softly.  He remembers bits and pieces, the entire day trickling in, but not fast enough.

            “You were, uh, hexed by Crowley and, I guess his mom?” Dean says, licking his lips, “We got you free, but you were exhausted, so we took you back here.”

            Castiel knows there is more to the subject that Dean wasn’t telling him.  “Dean, what did I do while under enchantment?”

            Dean stays silent.

            “Dean,” Castiel pleads, “tell me to my face, please.  What did I do?”

            Dean scrubs his hand down his face, but does as Castiel says.  He sits back down in his seat, knowing he can’t have this conversation standing. He can’t have it while sober, either, but there’s no alcohol in the Bunker: he knows, he checked the minute Castiel was down in the bed.

            “You… were trying to kill me,” he says quietly, afraid that once spoken the reality of the situation would set in, “You were saying stuff, swinging the First Blade left and right. If it wasn’t for Sammy an’ me… I don’t want to know what could have happened to you.”

            Castiel tries to think back on what happened, pounding through the wall that is trying to be built. When he finally breaks through, it’s like a tidal wave: the full day’s events playing back in Dolby. His eyes widen, remembering the stuff he said, the horrible lies said to Dean, about Dean. He turns to the hunter, and it’s like he knows what Castiel was going to say before he knew it.

            “Don’t,” he puts a hand up, “you don’t have to lie.  I know it must be a pain to know us… so if you want,” he has to swallow down the lump that built in his throat, “if you want, you don’t need to see us anymore. We won’t bother you with our problems anymore.  I know we’ve been nothing but a hassle since day one-“

            “You know nothing Dean,” Castiel interrupts, taking control of the situation before it crashes and burns under Dean’s control.  “What I said, what I did, that was because of the enchantment.  Those things were not my own.”

            “You’re just sayin’ that,” Dean argues, eyes lowered to the ground.

            “No, I’m not,” Castiel pushes onward, “that stone, it’s use was to turn emotions around: to make the recipient feel the total opposite of what they were truly feeling. And after they used it on me, all I could do was hate you: truly and deeply hate you, Dean Winchester. And do you want to know why? Because in my heart I… I love you.”

            It’s been said, and Castiel can’t help but feel lighter.  He’s been carrying that around for the longest time, and even if Dean can’t feel the same, he needed to free himself from the burden he’s placed upon himself.

            Dean has been left speechless mind racing with many thoughts, all centered on those three little words. Those darker thoughts, the ones niggling in the back of his head tell him that Castiel must be lying, how can he love someone like him.  But then there are the ones that hope.  The ones that take Castiel’s declaration for what it truly is.

            Those voices win out.

            Dean’s lips quickly find Castiel’s, trying to convey everything his words can’t do justice. Castiel is surprised, not ready for when his feelings were not only accepted but returned, yet he quickly succumbs to the pleasant feeling of Dean’s tongue on his.

            “Dean is Cas up-oh!”

            The duo jump apart, heads swiveling to see Sam frozen at the door.  He’s like a moose caught in headlights, and he keeps tripping over his words.

            “Sam,” Dean interrupts with a strained voice,  “do ya mind?”

            “N-not at all,” Sam laughs, “Please, continue.  I need to drown myself now.” The younger brother quickly makes his leave, and the other two in the bedroom stay still until they can no longer hear his fading footsteps.  When Sam’s stomps are nonexistent, the two look at each other…

            And laugh.

            Castiel’s head falls onto Dean’s shoulder, and Dean leans his forehead against the back of Castiel’s head. They enjoy the moment, the mood ruined for other activities, but not for enjoying each other’s presence.

            ‘ _…to hurt something awful_ …’

            The whispered reminder quickly comes to mind, and Dean’s laughter dwindles.  He lifts his head from Castiel’s to take a good look at his love, and he knows just what to do: make sure nothing happens to him, ever again.

            And Dean smiles once more, ready to take on what the future may give, as long as his brother is with him on one side, and his love is on the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! And hopefully you'll leave a comment, a kudos, or both!


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